


Off Guard

by Birdbitch



Series: Chew Me Up [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gift Fic, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A party ends up being the deciding factor for how Tim proceeds with his relationship with Kon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off Guard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [st00pz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st00pz/gifts).



> Written again for st00pz, who asked for a sequel to the last werewolf AU I wrote. Please enjoy!

“Dick says that if I don’t let Tim and Conner bond, they’re going to do it anyway behind my back.” Bruce stands apart from the gala that both his and Lex Luthor’s family have been invited to, out on the balcony in the air of late summer. Lex stands beside him and snorts. It’s not often that Bruce is anything close to civil near him, but with regards to their respective children, he supposes this is where they would need to find common ground.

“They probably will,” he answers, and he tries to keep himself from rocking his glass in his hand to make the ice cubes knock together. “Conner is, unfortunately, very much his father’s son.”

“Which one?”

“Both.” He looks into the glass at the amber liquid and wonders if Bruce knows that there’s even alcohol inside he could be drinking instead of having this conversation. “But I suppose that’s your main issue with it, isn’t it?” When Bruce doesn’t answer, Lex shrugs. “Funny enough, neither I nor Clark were much like him at his age. It’s almost like our children are their own people, isn’t it?” He claps Bruce on the shoulder and gets a glare in response. “It’s boring out here, Brucie. I’ll see you back inside.” Just because Bruce Wayne has a problem with his son doesn’t mean the same is true. Lex likes Tim quite a bit, actually--they have a similar streak in them, he thinks, and he sometimes seems like he’d be better fitted at LexCorp (or, rather, the soon-to-be-renamed Luthor Corp) than Wayne Tech or Industries or whatever it’s being called now, but that’s not really his business. Or, if it is, it’s not business he particularly wants to discuss with Bruce.

He heads back inside and rejoins Clark’s side, and there’s a strange thrill that shoots through his chest when Clark beams at him. It’s a feeling that has never really gone away, no matter how many times he’s willed it to.

 

\--

 

It’s not the first time Tim has wanted to leave a function before it’s over, and it probably won’t be the last, but he feels faint and tired and there’s a thundering in his chest that he wishes would go away. The longer Kon talks to an omega who isn’t him (pushed towards him by Clark who, though probably with good intentions, is likely working on behalf of Bruce), the sicker he feels. He never thought of himself as particularly jealous, but he wishes he had it in him to get up and stop the conversation. Instead, he moves his seat over to the bar where Dick’s sitting with Donna Troy, and he asks for a soda.

“You look warm,” Dick says immediately, and he looks like he wants to reach to check his temperature with the back of his hand, but he keeps it to himself and Tim is thankful for it, even if, had they been in private, he would have liked the physical contact. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m tired,” he says, and it sounds a little snappish and he shakes his head and glances over his shoulder to where Kon is still talking to the Gotham socialite before turning back towards the bar. “Sorry.”

“You can say something to him, you know,” Donna says, and Dick turns to look at her with a quick shake of his head.

“No, I can’t,” Tim answers. And really, he can’t. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve coupled with someone if you haven’t been tied to them; you don’t have a claim on them and you can’t tell other omegas to back off if they’re too close because it’s not like it’s official. If Kon wanted to go off with the socialite, there’d be nothing Tim could do to stop it.

“I thought--” Donna starts, but stops. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s.” He shrugs and gets up with the soda before thinking better of it. “Dick, can you tell Bruce I went home? I’m not feeling very well.”

“Do you want me to call a taxi? I can go with you.” It’s safer if he does, but Tim shakes his head at Dick’s offer.

“I kind of want to be alone,” he answers. No, not alone, but it’s too embarrassing to say what he really wants, and besides, what can he do except hope that, when Kon notices him missing, he calls and asks where he is?

Dick gets up anyway and squeezes his shoulder. “Bruce will give in,” he whispers, pulling Tim in for a hug. “And even if he doesn’t, you know--you don’t need his permission. You don’t need anyone’s permission but your own, and you’re our son. He’ll forgive you.”

“He still has Damian,” Tim says, but it’s mostly to be contrarian, and Dick frowns at the response.

“Tim.”

“I know.” He pulls away and waves at Donna. “It was nice seeing you, Donna.”

“It was good to see you, Tim. Feel better.”

He leaves just as Bruce starts coming over to the bar, and if he walks a little faster than he normally would so he can avoid talking to him, well, no one is going to call him out on it. He casts one more look towards Kon and catches his eye for a moment before looking back ahead of him, at the exit that’s slowly getting closer. Tim tries not to let his breath catch in his throat when he feels a hand on his shoulder, tries not to shiver because he knows the width of it, knows the smell that comes with the owner of it, and he wishes that they were anywhere but here. “Kon,” he says, because he’s almost out of there, has almost made it unscathed. He makes to keep walking and Kon follows, wraps his arm around his shoulders and leans down to speak against his hair.

“I thought the plan was for you to rescue me if anyone tried starting a conversation,” he says. “Totally unfair to leave me hanging like that.”

“You could have left,” Tim answers, but he’s sliding into place against Kon’s side like he’s meant to be there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He still has a headache and his heart is pounding against his chest, but it’s a little less about anxiety and it’s more about the fact that Kon’s hand is moving from his shoulders to down around his waist.

Kon snorts. “Lex would have thrown a hissy fit. The girl’s dad is making a large donation to his PAC or something.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.” He groans. “I’m probably going to get yelled at for leaving anyway.”

“Then why did you--”

Kon’s grip tightens on him a little, stops him and turns him so they’re facing each other. “It smelled like you were in trouble, and I didn’t want you to--” he pauses and scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I guess I was worried. You’re more important than a stupid party, you know?”

“Oh.” He says it like a puff of air escaping in winter, short and breathy and light, and he gazes up at Kon feeling dazed. It’s one of the things he hates--he hates being caught off guard and swept up, he hates not feeling like he’s totally in control--but he loves the fact that it’s Kon who does it and that Kon doesn’t even do it on purpose. But it’s still like a punch in the gut and then he feels weightless--until he realizes that Kon is, actually, lifting him off the ground. “Kon,” he says.

“I know you’re going to get mad that I’m carrying you, but--”

“No, I’m not.” He wraps his fists in the lapels of Kon’s jacket and doesn’t mind that there are more people milling in and out of the main ballroom, doesn’t mind that there are people who can see them scenting each other where anyone can see them. As private a person Tim is, he wants everyone to know that Kon is his. “Kon,” he says, keeping his voice low, and Kon ducks his head so he can breathe in deep against his throat. “I want to go home.”

“Then I’ll take you home.” He lets Tim’s feet hit the floor again, keeps the arm around his waist and they smile and wave at the people they know as they leave the building. As they wait for a cab, Kon tilts his head back to look up at the stars. “Has Bruce. You know. Changed his mind?”

Tim keeps quiet for a second and Kon knows the answer, is about to say something he when Tim opens his mouth. “I don’t care what he thinks,” he says, finally, and it’s a lie because he cares very much what Bruce thinks, has always cared about what Bruce thinks, but this feels more important. He thinks about what Dick said to him and he presses closer to Kon, who looks back at him. The cab pulls up and Tim separates from him to climb in. “Are you coming?” he asks, and Kon scurries forward to follow.

 

\--

 

Dick presses close to Bruce’s side for a photo, and Vicki Vale wrinkles her nose when the flash goes off. “Bruce, off the record--is Tim going to be marrying Lex Luthor’s kid? Are they a thing?”

“No offense, Miss Vale, but nothing is off the record with you,” Dick answers before Bruce can open his mouth.

She shrugs. “I have a job to do. Do you blame me for wanting good info?”

“Do they make you eat the unsold society pages at the Gazette?” Bruce asks, and it’s so uncharacteristic of Brucie that it stuns Vicki long enough that the two of them can get away from the party. They’ve been there for too long.

“Bruce,” Dick says, “that was mean.” He laughs though and when he looks at Bruce, the man looks self-satisfied with himself. Dick lowers his eyes for a second before looking up through his eyelashes at Bruce. “I think Tim wants to marry him, though.”

“You do.”

“I do.” He smiles at Bruce and there’s a little bit of sadness there. “I wasn’t so much older than him when we were tied, you know.” It’s reminder of how long they’ve been together, and he feels Bruce squeeze his hand. “Bruce.”

“He’s Lex Luthor’s son.”

“He’s Clark’s son, too.” Dick sighs and lets Bruce go so he can open the car door for him. Alfred sits in the driver’s seat behind the partition, but there’s little doubt that he can hear the conversation. “Your excuse is getting really thin, you know. And I won’t side with you if he does go behind your back.”

“I guess I can’t blame you.”

“You’re full of surprises tonight.”

Bruce shrugs, pulling the car door shut and sliding closer to Dick so he can put his arm around him. “I’ve been forced to make reconsiderations about my position on certain...things.” Dick doesn’t ask him to elaborate and Bruce won’t on his own.

 

\--

 

Tim’s heats hit him more suddenly than Dick’s do--they’ve always been more erratic than Dick’s, and he’s never been able to pinpoint them on the hour like Dick can. Without much warning, he feels the edge creep up his spine, and he goes rigid where he’s sitting on his couch next to Kon. Maybe he should feel lucky that they made it to his apartment before it hit him. Maybe he should have realized that the headache he was feeling was an early predictor of the heat (has he ever had a heat that wasn’t preceded by one? He doesn’t know). In any case, after he feels it, he can’t help but squirming.

“Kon,” he says, “you have to go.”

“What?”

“It’s--” he whines when Kon touches him and Kon pulls his hand back like he’s just put it on a hot burner. “Kon.”

“Do you really want me to leave?” Kon’s voice is low, pleading--he doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want Tim to reject him like this.

“You know what will happen if you stay.”

“It’s your decision,” Kon answers, and his nostrils are flaring because he can smell Tim, can smell the heat and can smell everything. He gets up when Tim doesn’t immediately answer, starts to leave until Tim grabs his wrist and presses it against his cheek. “Tim,” he says, and Tim frowns.

“I’m tired of it,” he says, and he pulls Kon back down. For all that he cares about what Bruce has to say, Dick is right--he doesn’t need his permission. Kon has been with him for over two years exclusively, hasn’t left him, has been his best friend for longer--Tim doesn’t think there’s anyone else he’s met or dated even that he would want to be tied to. It’s not fair. He kisses Kon’s wrist and draws a moan. “I want you,” he says.

Kon’s head tilts back to rest against the back of the couch and Tim climbs into his lap. They’ve both changed to sweatpants by now, and Kon is hard already when Tim rocks his hips down. “There’s supposed to be some ceremony to it,” he says, but he’s breathing hard and his hands are on Tim’s hips and he’s moving, standing up and lifting Tim with him.

“I don’t care,” Tim says, because there’s a time and place for ceremony and this isn’t it, not for them. He wants Kon, wants them both naked and together. Kon still has enough sensibility to light a few candles after depositing him on the bed, though, tries to make it a little romantic even though what they’re doing, what they’re going to be doing, is older than the notion of romance.

When Kon comes back to the bed, it’s to pull Tim’s clothes off of him, ripping the shirt and dragging his pants down. Somewhere, he finds the time to get rid of his own, and then Tim has what he wants, has Kon pressing down against him. “Want you in me,” he says, and he reaches up to grab at Kon’s chest when the alpha pulls up and brings Tim’s legs with him.

Kon wants to say something about how beautiful Tim looks, how the flush of his face is more like a glow, how he smells so wonderful, but the words are lost somewhere and instead he presses down to kiss Tim’s neck. If they’re going to be tied, it’s good to know where to put the bonding bite, good to know before he’s tied so he doesn’t end up screwing it up. Tim whines again, digs his heel into the small of Kon’s back and encourages him to move.

He pushes in, and Tim lets his head drop back against his pillows with relief at the sensation before begging Kon to go faster. He digs his fingernails against the sheets and reaches up so he can climb into Kon’s lap while he’s getting fucked, wraps a hand around the back of Kon’s neck and kisses him as best he can, messy and rough with too much teeth. He can feel Kon starting to knot, can feel the instinct to pull out like he has every other time before but he doesn’t--he doesn’t want to let him. He whines and kisses him and says, “Kon, please,” and Kon nods his head and stays, thrusts back in and stays there.

“Are you sure?” he asks, because he can still pull out, they don’t have to be tied--

“Yes,” Tim says. He bites a kiss against Kon’s jaw and tilts his head back. “Please--” Teeth sink in at the crux between his neck and shoulder and he cries out and can’t move between Kon’s mouth and his knot, can’t move and doesn’t want to.

 

\--

 

After his heat has finally past, Tim calls Dick. “He knows,” Dick says, and Tim wishes he could be surprised, but there’s not a whole lot that gets past Bruce. It doesn’t matter if Tim doesn’t even know how Bruce knows--maybe he guessed, which, given Tim’s absence from work and the millions of missed calls, wasn’t a bad bet.

“How’d he figure this would the the time?” he asks, though, because for all that it’s reasonable for Bruce to have guessed about his heat, this seems different.

“You know,” Dick says, “I think he might be psychic and has been lying to us this whole time. Are you alright? I’ll be stopping by later."

Tim shrugs. “I guess. It doesn’t feel all that different, except I feel so much less…”

“Vulnerable?” Dick suggests, voice soft.

“Yeah,” Tim answers, and he thinks about Kon and his wide shoulders and his strong hands, and he closes his eyes. “Less like I’m going to fall off a building without safety gear.” He pauses for a second and runs a hand through his hair. “Is he angry?” he asks, and Dick makes a noise of non-commitment.

“I don’t know how he can be,” he answers. “It’d be hypocritical and besides. I think he’s just upset you didn’t tell him before you did it.”

“It was spur of the moment,” Tim says, but really, he’d been thinking about it for long enough now that that feels like a lie. “I didn’t even know I was about to go into heat.”

“Like I said, it gets a lot predictable,” Dick says, humming to himself. “Do you need anything when I stop by?”

“You don’t really have to.”

“And not double check on your safety and give Kon a rundown on what’s going to happen if he hurts you? You’re lucky I’m not sending Bruce.” He’s smiling and Tim can tell even over the phone, but there’s an undercurrent of stress and worry in his voice--not hearing from Tim after seeing him leave in an unwell state? Can anyone blame Dick for needing to check-in with him in person? Tim smiles against the receiver feeling cared for.

There’s scrambling from the other side of the line, and Tim’s eyes shoot open when he hears Dick arguing with Bruce (“No, I will not give you the phone,” and “I need to speak to him”). His heart rate quickens when he realizes that Dick lost, that the phone is in Bruce’s hand and now-- “Tim?”

“Hi Bruce,” he says, his voice shaky.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Tim can hear Dick in the background saying, “Of course he’s alright--”

He breathes out. “I’m alright,” he answers.

“And you’re--are you angry with me?” Bruce asks, and Tim wants to laugh and cry and instead he puts his arm over his face.

“I’m--no, I’m not.”

“Good. You should have told me.”

“Bruce--”

There’s another argument and Dick gets the phone back. “I’ll see you later, Tim,” he says, apologetically.

“I’ll see you,” Tim answers, and the line goes dead. There’s a feeling of contentment in his chest, and when Kon emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, the feeling only gets larger.

 

 


End file.
